Casimir Effect
by YourDepressedPenPal
Summary: After being painfully transported to the Mass Effect universe one year before Shepard joins the Alliance, I find myself engulfed in the gang wars on Earth. T for language, alcohol, and violence.
1. An Unfortunate Arrival

**A/N: I'll keep this brief- welcome to my first Mass Effect Fanfiction! I'm flying solo for now, so please forgive hideous grammar and spelling.**

**Also,_ I don't own the Mass Effect universe or anything in it. That lovely privilege goes to the great Bioware, who gets all the money for it. I get none, this is for the entertainment of myself and whoever happens to read it._**

**So, without further delay, I present...**

**CASIMIR EFFECT**

_"I have a really bad feeling about this."  
_

_Han Solo_

Most of these kinds of stories start with an average person doing average things before their life is rudely disrupted. This isn't the case. I'm actually doing something spontaneous for once, and it lands me in a different universe. Figures.

If you haven't guessed already, my life has been incredibly boring. Occasional flares of excitement that quickly became disappointments are scattered throughout my past. I suspected it was because nothing really challenged me- even supposed 'grueling' school courses were an utter bore. Athletics were easy enough if you knew how to prepare your body. I almost turned to darker alternatives, but, luckily, drugs and alcohol didn't help the situation. So, when my friend Cameron approached me with two tickets for skydiving, I said why not? It sounded fun enough.

That's how I end up in the single stall women's bathroom at the skydiving sign up, slumped over the toilet. It takes two days and a five hour drive for me to remember: I'm fucking terrified of heights. Or more specifically- _falling off of them._ This is a damn nightmare.

"What the hell was I thinking?" I mumble into the toilet bowl. "'Go skydive,' they said. 'It'll be fun,' they said." My stomach agrees with a gurgle. As soon as the instructor mentioned we would only be going up 12,000 feet since we were 'beginners,' I ran outta there. I'm not sure if he even heard my excuse of having to call my mother. Doubtful he would believe it anyway; what self-respecting 19 year old has compulsions to call her mother? And why did Cameron tell me we were only going 2,000 feet up? The Burj Khalifa is taller than that! At least I knew what I was getting into then. The bastard, he even knows I'm afraid of falling off heights and becoming a pulpy, bloody-

A knock on the door interrupts my disgusting thoughts, followed Cameron's hesitant, "You okay in there, Katie?"

_No, of course not. You tricked me into falling 115 mph out of a plane! _"Oh, don't mind me- I'm just going to relieve my stomach before I die a horrible and painful death."

The door does little to muffle his scoff. "I hope you realize you'll have a parachute. And a trained professional strapped to your back."

"Don't remind me. That guy was looking at me like I was a buffet," I groan. "He reminds me of Vince Neil, only uglier and more pervy. He's even got the hair!"

"Stop being overdramatic. I'm sure he just finds you… intriguing. After all, how many mentally stable people does he see in a day? And then there's you," he retorts. I can practically hear him smirking.

"You asshole!" Despite the verbal abuse, my stomach is starting to settle down. "You're so lucky there's a door between us, Cam. This is your fault, you know."

"Uh-huh. You're the one who said- and I quote- 'Might as well, I've got nothing better to do.'" Did he just air quote me? I'm pretty sure he air quoted me.

"At least I'm getting it out of my system before I'm wearing a fancy suit," Grabbing the seat, I slowly push myself up into a standing position. My stomach definitely isn't happy with the movement. I have to put my hands on the grubby tile wall to steady myself.

Laughs trickle through the door. "These suits are definitely not fancy. Or comfortable…" Crap, he's wearing the suit? That means I missed the instructional video. I've been in here longer than I thought. What if they don't even let me go up because I missed it?

"Maybe you should go on without me." Shit. Why did I say that? His sharp inhale makes me queasy for a totally different reason.

_Please don't let it be the give up speech, please don't, pleasedon't, pleasedon-_

"Katie Donovan, the girl who was the first to ace Mr. Alexander's physics final; can kick anyone's ass at any video game, tennis match, or puzzle- is giving up?" Oh God, here we go again. "I never thought I'd see the day! I should write this down for posterity. 'One sunny day in July, I- the handsome, oh so _charming_ Cameron Miller- finally beat her in resolve. Turns out all it took was one skydiving adventure. It's taken years, but after seeing her rise at that street race in-"

"Okay! I'll be out in a few," I hurriedly cut him off, before he starts listing the legally questionable stuff I've done. He will list _all_ of them if I don't interrupt. No need to have the police called, especially over the incident in San Juan. "Go eat a sandwich or stare at yourself in the mirror for awhile." I hear a slight shuffling and then silence. Knowing him, he probably has gone to stare at himself in a mirror. I slowly straighten up and head to the mirror myself before he comes back to annoy me.

I'm a little pale, my wavy, collarbone-length dark blonde hair slightly mussed, my golden brown eyes are darker than usual, but I look normal enough- certainly not like I almost threw up. I think.

Then again, I'm terrible at gauging what people think of me.

Another loud knock interrupts the study of my reflection. Damn that man.

"Hey, Cam, when I said to go look at a mirror, I really meant to leave me alone for more than two minutes," I say loudly towards the wooden door. Several seconds pass by in silence. "No snappish remark?" Still no answer.

"Cam? You there?" Okay, that's weird. I've never known Cam to pass up on a chance to tease me. While it usually annoys the hell out of me, it's comforting to know his personality will never change. "Are you trying to scare me, Cam? Remember how that turned out last time!" He'd thought it would be funny to scare me with a tarantula. He earned a kick in the crotch.

There's still no response.

Well, if he's going to jump out at me, might as well get it over with. I stride to the door and reach for the handle. Right as I'm about to touch it, the door is thrown open, the lock snapping and hinges squealing from strain. Time slows, my heart constricting as I absorb the figure in front of me.

He's humongous with biceps the size of my head and wide shoulders straining against an awkwardly worn hoodie. The face is what stops my heart. Orange paint splayed artfully across chocolate brown plates and mandibles that are spread wide, showing off his spectacularly sharp teeth. His fringe is half concealed under the hood, eyes half-concealed by their lids.

There's a fucking turian in front of me.

Looking murderous.

A flanging noise accompanies a shift in his mandibles. It takes a moment before his words cut through my hazy brain.

The turian's voice is distorted and choppy, stumbling over syllables as he spits, "Katie Donovan?" Cursing years of being obedient to a fault, I nod.

A claw snaps out and grabs my right shoulder, piercing the skin beneath my t-shirt. I yell in surprise and pain, trying to jerk away. He easily pulls me closer despite my resistance. The smell of iron and rust intensifies as he draws me in. My stomach decides at that moment to let me know it hates the smell. The turian shifts slightly right as I vomit, opening the view to the room behind him. Ice inhabits my newly empty stomach at the sight.

Cameron's crumpled form in the corner wearing a hideously yellow jumpsuit, head lying in a halo of blood. His eyes are closed and his chest definitely isn't moving.

"No! CAMERON!" I scream, legs kicking wildly, my fists thudding against chest plates. In my frantic state, I almost miss seeing what his second claw holds.

It's a syringe. Thick and holding some green liquid that is clearly meant to go in my body. Fuck.

My fingers and knees scream at me as I hit anything, anywhere. He grunts and tightens the grip on my shoulder, stabbing into the skin. Fuck! There's no way I can take this guy myself. I don't wanna die!

"Help! This guy's trying to kill me! Cameron! Wake up!" I shriek while the turian growls at me, "HELP! HELP! F-" There's white hot pain as his forehead connects with mine, making me go limp. Black spots cloud my vision. I'm hit with the horrible realization that there's nothing I can do. In the brief moment it takes for him to adjust the syringe, a small crazy part of me realizes I was right earlier- I'm going to die here, at a fucking skydiving joint.

There's a sharp pain in my neck and then nothing.

* * *

I awake to agony.

My limbs are on fire, head screaming, lungs burning- _I can't breathe!_

Surely I'm dead; surely this is hell.

My eyes see swirls of colors and shapes, spinning faster and faster making me sick. Yellow, green, blue, brown, silver…

I hear nothing, and everything. A scream (my own?) makes my eardrums tear. There are people talking, shouting, shrieking! Then there's silence. Nothing, I can't hear! Empty.

The shrieking! It's so loud!

I can't move my hands or feet, can't feel anything but white hot pain! I'm ripping apart at the seams, cells themselves burning and dividing.

So much pain. Too much. How am I awake for this? How am I awake?

How do I feel this?

Am I dead?

The colors swirl into a heavy, pressing black. I see nothing. I hear nothing.

I feel nothing.

I give up.

* * *

There is white.

It doesn't swirl, it stands still.

It hurts my eyes to look at but I keep them open.

My hands move sluggishly, pushing at the white, holding it back. There's no more pain, just…

Cold? It's really cold. My hands are cold, so are my knees. They rest against the white too. I'm fairly sure I'm alive. Each breath is fresh and crisp. There's numbness too. _Cold causes numbness_. I remember. Why's it so hard to remember?

My ears tickle. My mouth and nose do too, but the ears are persistent. They're _loud_. Through the dull ringing I hear, "Hey, are you alright?" As soon as I register the words, everything comes flooding back. I remember the skydiving, the scuffle, a dead Cameron, but the time after is the most vivid. _What do you even call something like that swirling hell?_ Ghost pains flare up and it's all I can do to just breathe.

_You're not there anymore, you're here._ I repeat in my head like a mantra. _You're here. You're alive._

About ten repetitions later a very important question comes to mind.

Where is here?

I can hear cars and people flocking about, smell food and exhaust. My mouth tastes appropriately like ash. The cold white shifts under my hands and I'm struck with the realization it's snow. _  
_

The voice-a woman's- interrupts again, clearly concerned. "Lady, want me to call an ambulance?" It occurs to me this isn't the first time she's asked that question. Red spots appear in the snow below my shoulder, but it doesn't hurt.

Flexing each finger experimentally, I push myself up to my knees. The effort for that simple action is enormous, and I can see black spots in my vision again. There's not enough spots to block out the woman crouching in front of me: pale skin, a hardened face, short black hair, and kind blue eyes. Familiarity washes over me, but I can't remember who she is.

The saner part of me asks why I'm not panicking.

"What's your name?" she inquires gently, shuffling a bit closer. Her arms are slightly away from her body, shoulders tense, like she's preparing to catch me. I don't blame her. The world is spinning after all.

"Katie Donovan," I mutter softly, voice not as hoarse as I would think. Wasn't I screaming the whole time I was in that hell?

Her eyes squint and her head tilts in confusion. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

Swallowing (a terrible idea when your mouth tastes ashy), I try again, "Katie Donovan. Yours?"

"Jessica Shepard," she responds suspiciously. I'm struck silent in recognition. Makes sense in a twisted way. First a turian, now the savior of the galaxy.

Her eyes shift back and forth before locking onto mine. "So, do you need an ambulance? Not to be insensitive, but I'm in a hurry."

"That was insensitive," I immediately reply. My mouth disconnects from my brain and I begin to ramble. "You must have never taken an emergency procedures class. And no, I don't need an ambulance. Going to a public hospital is probably a bad idea. I'm probably not on the records." That last part slipped out.

I blink slowly. When'd she get so close? "What happened to your shoulder?" she asks.

I blink again and she's close enough to touch. "What's on your wrist?"

My wrist? What? My arm refuses to cooperate and let me see. I'm too tired to fight it anyway.

"I dunno. Can't see it. Wassa big guy. A turian." Weak laughs bubble up, "A turian! Can you believe that? Haha..." Shepard goes blurry as my eyes fill with tears. "Poor Cam, you were so funny..."

Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, and my eyelids start to close without my permission. I change what I said earlier, it's kind of warm. "'m tired."

I vaguely register her commenting on bleeding and hypothermia before I pass out the second time.

* * *

_CLANG!_

Groaning, I throw an arm over my head to block out the noises of metal and glass hitting each other. Each noise makes the front of my head throb in a blistering headache. Looks like Cam's trying to cook again. It's not that he's an awful cook- it's that it takes him at least three tries to make something 'just so.' When he messes up, he likes to take it out on the tools he's using. I was having an interesting dream too! It was something about skydiving, Turians, and Shepard.

_BANG!_

I shift my arm and stare accusingly at the dark ceiling. From the ringing echo of the impact, that was a pan. He's most likely making omelets.

… I've lived with him for too long.

_CRASH!_

That's enough. It's time to explain to Cameron why he lost his morning kitchen privileges. I move to get up, but a sharp pain in my right shoulder forces me to flop back down. Holy hell that hurt! I don't remember pulling a muscle or anything. Slowly rolling the shoulder, there's dull burn when the skin on the shoulder blade is stretched. That's definitely not a pulled muscle. Reaching up, I feel ragged edges and holes in my t-shirt with a bandage slapped on underneath. I can't see it in the dark, but as I continue to rub the material a scene from the dream nags at me.

_Sharp talons pierce my shoulder's skin. I try to scream, but I'm frozen in horror and fear. The turian's breath smells of iron and blood._

No way. That couldn't have happened. It was just a dream. Cameron's still alive and cooking, so it has to have been a dream.

Right?

Flinging the covers off my body, I twist until my Converse clad feet hit the floor. I only wear shoes to bed after a heavy drinking binge, but the lack of nausea and the headache- only making the front of my head throb instead of my entire skull- say otherwise. I stride over a creaky wooden floor (definitely not my smooth carpet floor) to the sliver of light coming from the door across the room (further proof this isn't my room, my bed's next to the door). Hit with panic from waking up in a strange house- injured- I press my ear to the wooden slab first, heart pounding.

There are light footsteps and swishing of clothes as the mystery person walks around what is presumably the kitchen. It doesn't sound like there's anyone else around. I slowly reach for the doorknob, and cautiously turn it, freezing when it makes a soft click. The person in the kitchen doesn't seem to notice. Pushing my luck further I open the door (with extremely well oiled hinges) and observe the hallway in front of me. It leads to the occupied kitchen, from which a warm yellow glow emanates, highlighting the creamy white walls of the hall. A shadowy figure darts around with multiple pots in hand.

Satisfied this person doesn't seem to be a threat apart from being a rather loud cook, I venture further into the walkway. Another larger bedroom is a few paces forward and to the left, while a bathroom is directly opposite of it. The house has an air of not being lived in. The walls are bare and the two rooms look empty apart from the essentials.

"Are you going to come eat breakfast or are you going to snoop around some more?" echoes down the hall from the figure standing in the kitchen.

_Her blue eyes burn with curiosity and suspicion as she answers, "Jessica Shepard."_

"I tried to cook some bacon and eggs, but I'm not exactly known for my culinary skills," she adds awkwardly. I have to choke back a laugh at the differences between this young Shepard and the one in the games. She lacks the military posture and attitude, her voice is less sure, but she still sounds like Jennifer Hale (thanks goodness.) She's wringing her hands and bouncing lightly up and down- possibly she's nervous to have me here? Still, there's a wiry strength in her limbs and a fire in her eyes. I have no doubt she could kick my ass if she wanted to.

Shepard arches her brow at me, and I realize I've been silent for too long.

"Oh, well... Thanks. I'm sure you're not nearly as bad as my roommate..." Sadness fills me as I remember Cameron. If the dream is true, then he may be dead. My eyes burn with tears I struggle to blink away. I need to pull it together while Shepard's watching and save the breakdown for later.

Ever sensitive, she diverts the conversation before it begins. "I guess we'll see about that. Well, come on. Pull up a chair, it's all on the table." I comply, scooping a helping eggs and a handful of bacon onto my plate, both smelling quite overcooked. "I usually go ste- uh, get something from the bakery, but I wanted to be able to check up on you."

I know where this is heading. Shoving a spoonful of oddly textured eggs into my mouth to buy myself some time, I'm dismayed to find the taste is overwhelmed by the ashy residue. Grabbing a crisp of bacon and shoving it into my mouth yields the same results. I can barely swallow the food.

That's depressing.

Shepard continues, oblivious to my blinding disappointment in the flavor of my favorite food. "Those are some nasty wounds you have. You should have seen the state you were in when I found you." The pointed look she gives me clearly invites me to answer her implied questions. Well, she doesn't waste any time.

I have no doubt she wouldn't believe that I was somehow transported from another universe into this one, but I don't want to lie to her.

Let's start simple. "Yeah, angry turians can do that."

The look of surprise on her face is priceless. "Turians? In Toronto? What'd you do to piss one off?"

Toronto? So this is an Earthborn Shepard. Yet, she doesn't act like part of the Reds. Most gang members wouldn't take in a wounded stranger. Maybe it's a healthy Paragon streak? "Uh, yeah. Not sure about that. Kinda ruined my first time in Canada."

She chuckles a little at that. "You haven't seen anything until you visit Jane and Finch." There's a pause as she chews and swallows some eggs. If I recall correctly, eggs aren't supposed to be rather chewy. "You're lucky I found you. Scarborough's a pretty shitty neighborhood. They would have chopped your arm off for that piece of tech on your wrist."

My wrist again? Looking down I almost spit out my eggs in shock. It's a strip of some kind of flexible metal about a centimeter wide that's molded to my arm. The bracelet is sleek and lightweight, and I probably wouldn't have even noticed it if Shepard hadn't mentioned it. Choking down the eggs I manage to say, "Well, I just got this. Wouldn't have known what I was missing- I don't even know what it can do yet."

"It's definitely a top-of-the-line omni-tool; it's nicer than any of the models at the store. I've never seen one quite like it," she says ruefully. Is that jealousy? I believe we have a techie here. "I could help you figure it out if you want," she offers hopefully.

While I have no doubt she could work out what it does faster than I could, I would rather use this as an attempt to learn about her past. "Really?"

Her eyes light up at the hesitant acquiescence. She looks like a little kid at Christmas. There's no way she's older than me. Didn't the Earth-born Shepard join the Alliance at 18? "Yeah, I've been told I'm a natural at tech since I was a kid."

"Uh-huh. How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough." She says flippantly.

"Seriously, you're not that much younger than me. I'm barely an adult."

An annoyed look accompanies her answer. "I'm eighteen."

Then why isn't she in the military?

"Are you sure?" I blurt, smacking myself mentally. What a stupid question.

"I think I would know my own age." I have to suppress my anger at seeing that sneer. Even if I asked for it. "Since we're getting to know each other, how old are you?"

"Nineteen. A couple years older than you." I can practically feel her frustration at my answer.

"I am eighteen! Even if I wasn't, what the hell makes you think it really matters? Why do you care?" She's half-standing, and left hand is reaching behind her back. I'm pretty sure she has a gun back there. "I don't like people asking things I've already answered."

I lift my hands in surrender. "Just curious! You just look a little young to be taking in wounded strangers. That's all." Clearly, Shepard has a bit of an anger problem.

There's a tense moment before she lets her left hand drop back to the table and sighs. "Seventeen. I'm seventeen, okay?" A smile slips out at her admission despite my attempts to squelch it. "Don't look so smug. I'm only telling you because you're bleeding through your bandage."

Oh. Glancing at my shoulder shows she's right, and red is starting to stain my white shirt.

_How do I not feel that?_

"Come on, let's go take a look at that." She stands up and leads me to the small bathroom I saw earlier, gently pushing me to sit on the toilet lid. "Even though your style in clothing is... outdated, it gives easy access to your wound."

I wince at the pain from the claw marks and the insult to my clothes. "I'll have you know jeans, t-shirts, and Converse will never go out of style!" _Unlike those hideous overalls._

She ignores my comment and picks up a pack of what I assume to be medigel. As she squeezes, it comes out a clear blue gel. For some inane reason, this surprises me. I've always imagined some sort of injection. _Well, it is called medi_gel. I mentally face palm.

Midway through spreading it over my wounds, her omni-tool (whose base I note to be larger than mine) lights up and gives off a faint beeping. Or, it would be faint, if it weren't right next to my ear.

I clench my jaw against the rhythmic flares of my headache it causes, teeth grinding so hard my dentist would have a panic attack.

Shepard must have seen my reaction because she hurriedly shuts the alarm off. "Shit! Sorry, I've been meaning to turn that off for awhile now."

"No problem," I grit out.

The rest of the re-bandaging passes without a hitch; Shepard leaves afterwards- saying she has 'things to do'- giving me some time to take stock in my condition.

The purple bruise on my forehead is expected, but the small bandage covering covering my upper jugular is a bit of a surprise. Lifting the bandage reveals a large hole with grey tendrils of who knows what reaching up towards the corner of my jaw. It kind of looked like a spider. If Cameron sees this he'll probably joke my greatest fear is forever on my neck.

Cameron.

Sadness rushes through me at that thought. In the dream- no, in the very _real_ past, Cameron was probably dead. There was too much blood splattered around him, and the wound was much too deep. God, what a terrible way to go.

I can still remember the first time we met. I had just put out an ad for a roommate to help pay for my new flat when he strolled up and checked it out, promptly flopping onto the couch and declared he'd love to room here. He'd been charming and funny, (much better than some of the crazy prospects that begged me to let them stay) and even offered to pay for the electric in full if I allowed him to set up a gaming station. How could I refuse?

Tears fill my eyes as I remember a recent conversation.

_A year after that first meeting, we're on our way to meet up with a few friends at the movies, cracking jokes about the pedestrians when Cameron suddenly goes silent._

_I'm about to comment on a rather large woman crossing while we're stopped when he speaks again, "Do you ever want to be like that?" I glance questioningly at him but he avoids my gaze._

_"Like what?" I ask._

_He points across the street to a couple standing by a streetlight, holding hands and looking sickeningly cute. What's he mean?_

_"Y'know... just... happy to be with someone," he shrugs as he elaborates. What?_

_Bewildered, I respond, "I can be happy with someone. I can think of several someones I'm happy to be around."_

_He shakes his head, letting out a frustrated sigh. "That's not what I mean. I meant, happy to_ be _with someone. Someone who understands you. Cares for you. Loves you, and you love too._" _That was awfully wistful. It's a stark departure from his witty, smart-ass self._

_"Where'd this romantic Cameron come from?"_

_"He's always been there." I scoff. He shakes his head again, clearly seeing his point isn't being made. "So? Do you ever.. y'know?"_

_I go quiet, watching the couple while mulling over his words, reading between the lines._

_Oh._

_OH._

_My eyes widen in realization, and I see his head turn toward mine. I meet his gaze, looking at him more closely that I have before. A curly mop of chestnut hair over low eyebrows, a perpetual smirk, a classic square face defined by a strong jaw, dark eyes that sparkle when he tells a joke._

_Fuck, I'm in it deep._

_My mouth does that thing where it disconnects with my brain and a low "Someday" slips out._

_A sad smile spreads on his face as he sees the answer as it is. "I hope that guy can wait for you." The talking in subtexts is killing me._

_I rush to say the next words, heart pumping quickly, "Cam, listen, I-"_

_A loud honk from behind us interrupts me, ruining whatever confidence I had. We break eye contact as Cam moves the car past the intersection and the streetlight where that couple was. I slump back in my seat, exhaling slowly. Cam does the same._

_"You know the real reason why I wanted to be your flatmate?" He says suddenly, eyes focused on the road._

_No! I scream in my head. You'll ruin everything! "Letting you set up that helluva gaming station that sucks up more electricity than everything else in the house combined?" I ask sarcastically instead._

_He smiles- a genuine, rare, happy smile that lights up his face in the most appealing way. "Something like that."_

_We drive on._

I sit on the bathroom floor and weep.

* * *

**EDITED 12/27/12 for grammar and general dislike of the setup. Combined two chapters for a more whole intro.**

**A/N: I'm arriving a year before Shepard joins the Alliance, and you'll get to see all of the shenanigans I get into. How I get into the universe may be disturbing, but it has a point, and this chapter doesn't even scratch the surface of what's going on. It's basically a, "Hey! Welcome to the new world!" intro, with a lot more... well, you'll see. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	2. An Unfortunate Introduction

_"If this is the best of possible worlds, what then are the others?" _

_― Voltaire, Candide_

After gathering myself from the undignified heap in the bathroom floor, I start a cursory inspection of the apartment. It's small, with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. The furniture is sparse, and if I didn't know Shepard lived here, I would assume it was vacant. Only the few dishes in the sink would have tipped me off.

Plodding back into the living room, I move to the only window in the house. The view is... not spectacular. A dingy street crowded by other complexes is the only remotely interesting feature. Craning my neck in all directions yields nothing different. The whole block looks uninhabited.

Interesting. And concerning.

My stomach chooses that moment to announce that it, too, is concerned. Crying really drains a stomach. Moving back into the kitchen, I open the surprisingly low tech refrigerator to find it empty. It's also room temperature inside. Does Shepard not use it? I lean against the open door and think.

Something is definitely off about this place. An unused fridge, little furniture, no personal effects all add up to- a person who doesn't live here often? No, that's not it. Shepard can't be _that_ busy. The only weird thing is that everything looks like it's from the 21st century.

A knock on the door startles me from my musings.

"Open up! I'm freezing my ass off out here!" Shutting the fridge, I walk over to open the door on a disgruntled Shepard laden with bags. She leaves a trail of snow as she sets down the bags and sheds her coat. "Oh, good. You're awake," she states, throwing the coat over the single armchair in the living room.

I resist the urge to insist she take off her wet boots. "Lucky you."

"I was afraid you'd pass out again. Two hours are a long time for an injured person to be alone." She picks up a few bags, "Help me, will you?" I grab the remaining two, and follow her to the kitchen table.

"Aren't you the responsible one," I mutter sarcastically. Now that she mentioned it, it was stupid of her to leave me alone.

She narrows her eyes as she sets the bags on the table. "I also have pretty damn good hearing."

Not eager to see a repeat of her earlier outburst, I hastily change subjects. "So, what's in all these bags?"

"Food, mostly. They had a sale at the grocers," she chuckles, "It was a steal." Her thinly veiled joke doesn't slip past me.

"Huh. What put you in such a good mood?" I say. A particularly large apple falls out of one of the bags and lands on her foot.

She picks up the apple, taking a giant bite. "Frsh err invigorts muh," is muffled by the apple in her mouth. I'm fairly sure that was 'fresh air invigorates me.'

"Does it stir up your appetite too?"

Finally swallowing, she plops down in one of the rickety chairs. "Jesus, you ask a lot of questions. Don't you ever know when to stop?"

"Apparently not. No one's ever mentioned it before." I start rifling through the bags to cover up my grimace. Why can't I stop being annoying? Gah, I'm even asking myself questions now.

"Well now you do. When you respond with eight questions out of a ten part conversation, that's considered a no-no."

Her exaggeration stops my examination of a blue banana. "I don't ask things that much!"

"Uh-huh. I guess you also think you can fight Turians," she retorts.

"Considering it was my first time, I don't think I did that badly. I'd like to see you try it sometime." Setting the fascinating blue banana down, I shuffle the bag around to see if there's anything else interesting in the bag of fruits and vegetables.

"That's where you and I differ. I'm not going to piss one off enough to try," she shrugs. Her full concentration seems to have settled on my examination of the bags.

Reaching for the next bag, I try to change the subject. The less we talk about the future, the better. "I can see that you like apples," I note as the gallon bag in front of my bulges with the fruit.

"I love apples. I was having a craving!" she replies defensively.

"I'm surprised you got away with all of this," I murmur to myself. A gallon of apples, a bag of bananas and vegetables, and now a bag full of some junky tech. A round chip rolls out of the bag. It shimmers in the light as I pick it up. Holding it up to the light, I spin it around. It looks expensive. "What's this?"

There's a thump as Shepard picks up a compact pistol and drops it on the table. "A business proposition," she replies smoothly. Dropping the chip on the table, I stare at the gun. From what I can tell it looks unloaded, but I'm not sure.

"A business proposition?" I echo, my heart leaping into my throat.

She throws the apple away with a thump. "Yes. I need your help."

Me? "With what?"

Before continuing, she stands up and presses the gun into my hands. Her eyes search mine briefly. "This may shock you, but I've not always been the hospitable host I am now."

"I figured as much," I reply, totally bewildered. She moves away and stands at the entrance to the living room.

"My former... occupation required a certain level of ruthlessness. This ruthlessness managed to piss off many of my... associates. As soon as I quit, my associates decided I was no longer worth keeping alive." From what I remember she was part of a gang. If the codex went into any detail about her joining the Alliance, I can't remember. Considering I never actually finished my Earthborn play through, I have no idea. For all I knew she left on great terms. Is she being chased? If so, why ask me for help?

"So, what you're saying is..." I trail off, hoping she'll finish the sentence.

"What I'm saying is I need a partner. Someone to watch my back."

I look down at the gun and then back at her. "Why me?"

"Because I checked your records, and I noticed one thing: you don't exist. Anywhere. Hell, I even checked alien databases! As far as I'm concerned, that means you're hiding from someone, or have something to hide. Either way, we have something in common," she finishes with a shrug.

Wow. Those gaps in her logic are so big I could jump a horse through them. Several horses, actually. "How do you know I wasn't hired by your associates?" I ask.

She actually laughs at this, "Because I know them. They prefer keeping things inside the group. Besides, you would have killed me the moment that gun touched your hands."

Damn. What a gamble. "I see. But what's this chip?" I twist it in the dim light. It's nickel-sized, but for all I know it could hold a terabyte of data. Future electronics are insane.

"That is what you would've stolen if you were actually hired to kill me." She walks over and snatches it from my hand, inserting it into her omni-tool. "So, how about it?"

Well, let's see.

I'm trapped in the world of a video game with no foreseeable way out. I'm injured. I have no idea about the technology. Yet, the savior of the galaxy is offering a "job" as her partner, that will no doubt involve heaps of danger. It may even involve possible death.

"Okay."

"Good!" she cries, shoving everything back into the bags, "Because we need to go. Right now." Opening cabinets, she dumps anything she sees into the floor. There is very little. A single pot, two forks, and two plates land on the floor.

"Uh, okay?" I say, watching her flit about. Hesitantly I go to stand next to her, but she's already moving toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

"Get any of your stuff not on you," she says over her shoulder, flicking on the lights. "You have five minutes."

Wow. I snap my jaw shut and move to my room. Shepard's door is closed, but I hear rustling and clinking. Throwing my door open, I turn on the lights. It hits me this is the first time I've actually seen the room. It's tiny; the bed I slept on is actually a cot wedged between the wall and a small table. Looking around, there's nothing of mine anywhere. I don't even have a coat.

Well, that was easy.

Flicking the lights off, I leave the room and stand in the hallway. Shepard's door flies open with a whump, and she shoves something in my face before I can even glance in her direction. Pulling it off of my head, I manage to see her back as she walks away, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

"I noticed you didn't have a coat," she calls when she enters the kitchen, "So I got one for you."

"Uh, thanks!" I offer meekly. It's not a heavy winter coat, but it's not a thin one either. Slipping it on, the sleeves go a couple of inches past my wrist. All in all, not bad. It does smell like smoke, though.

"No problem, but you owe me." What a philanthropist. I follow her into the now spotless kitchen, and stand watching as she tucks the last fork into her bag. She turns around to face me, appraising how I look. She shoves the compact gun back into my hands after contemplating a moment, briefly showing me how to open it, close it, and where the safety was. We move into the living room after that's all finished, and she gives me an inscrutable look.

"You ready?" she asks, squinting her eyes as if to see me better.

Tucking the gun into my right jacket pocket, I answer, "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Stay close," she murmurs, opening the front door. As soon as I'm out, she waves her omni-tool at the house, and the place goes dark. "We have about ten minutes before they come looking here."

Nodding, I tag along behind her as she jogs down the hall. "So, did you steal houses for a living?" I tease quietly as we go down the stairs two steps at a time.

"Not quite," she replies, hopping over the railing to the ground floor. Damn, she made that look effortless. I hurry down the last flight to catch up. At the end of the stairwell is a slightly cracked door. Shepard peeks through it cautiously before stepping out. Glancing around, she waves me forward into a dark alley between buildings. The snow immediately seeps into my converse. While stylish, they have zero insulation.

Following Shepard down the alley, I see a flash of light briefly pass by. She yanks me back, slamming me so hard against the wall my teeth rattle. Voices echo through the alley, but what they're saying is unintelligible.

"Stay here," Shepard whispers. I anxiously watch her creep forward in the dark, fully aware I am screwed if it comes to a firefight. The only guns I've ever fired were rifles, and even then my aim was piss poor. By piss poor I mean fucking terrible. But for all I know, handguns are easier to fire. Seems like it. There's less weight on my hand to drag the aim, but no shoulder support. The slugs are more lightweight, which- if the explosion inside the chamber of both guns are the same- means a faster acceleration and final speed; faster speeds means farther distance traveled than a rifle in proportion to the downward force of Earth's gravity, even if that amount is negligible. I'm pretty sure rifles actually achieve faster bullet speeds, now that I think about it. Despite this, if compact enough-

An annoyed "Hey!" breaks my concentration. "This only works if you fucking pay attention," Shepard snaps, "The coast is clear, so we are going to run to my other safe-house. Stick by me and you'll be fine."

I nod meekly. And here I thought I stopped getting lost in my physics ruminations when I'm nervous. She huffs indignantly and then begins to run at a moderate pace. I follow, slowed by my numb feet and the 3 inch snowfall. The dingy apartment buildings remind me a little of Chicago southside, if only because I feel like I'm going to be mugged at any moment.

Shepard cuts a sharp left as the end of the block, opening up a view of the rest of the Toronto city. Gleaming superstructures ascend into the milky white clouds, some spiraling and others gracefully arcing. The skyline is out of this world- or, well, my world. Yet, glancing to the left and right, I realize that urban center is miles away from where I am, in between grungy buildings that have the occasional hobo dotting a street corner. It would seem many things change, but most stay the same.

What feels like hours later to me, with my lungs and legs aching, we arrive at a nearly identical apartment complex. The only difference between this one and the last is that it seems inhabited. Lights peek out of windows, occasionally blotted out by moving figures. A distant boom ruins the peacefulness of the place.

Laughs tumble out of Shepard as she slows down to accommodate me, gasping like a fish out of water.

"What's... so... funny?" I manage to spit. Literally.

"Looks like they found my surprise," she chuckles. Turning to the building, she takes a second to collect herself before moving forward.

"Great..." I huff, limping to the building.

A harsh voice cracks through the night like a whip, "Yes, Jess. Looks like we did."

Shepard's back stiffens and I notice her fist tighten until they are as white as the snow beneath our feet. Turning as fast as I can, I see a young man standing in front of four thugs, all five holding pistols twice the size of mine.

Great.

"What's the matter, Jess? Turian cut your tongue?" the front most man jeers. That's an actual saying?

An imperceptible sigh, "No, I'm just wondering how stupid you Reds can get, JJ," Shepard retorts.

JJ's eyes flash dangerously, "You better watch your mouth. You used to be one of us, ya know. I remember when you used to believe in the gang!" A whisper distracts me from JJ's diatribe.

"Katie," I faintly make out. Shepard has taken a step closer during the rant, that's somehow digressed into a story about a bakery robbery five years ago.

"What?" I breathe back, trying to hold my lips as still as possible to not give us away.

Something like a faint tick seems to be Shepard's answer. "What?"

"Duck," she hisses louder. There's a faint whine behind me before what she says makes sense. Dropping to a crouch in the snow, a series of loud bangs ring out. Blood spurts from three bullet wounds in JJ's chest.

"You talk too much," Shepard deadpans as he falls, eyes wide in shock. Holy shit! Did she really just say that!?

I have very little time to contemplate before the thugs start yelling, bullets flying everywhere. A hand yanks on my collar, bodily dragging me back from the fight.

Déjà vu.

"Get your pistol out!" Shepard screams in between shots. The thugs are taking cover behind a couple of upturned benches, popping off any shots they can. Scrambling to my feet I claw for my pistol, expanding it into the palm of my hand and flicking off the safety. Taking a second to aim I shoot at a thug popping out from cover. He ducks back as the shot flies several meters wide.

A loud "Come on!" and I'm following Shepard behind a crumbling wall in front of the building. Bullets ping off of the top of the wall, and I instinctively sink lower to avoid the puffs of debris and certain death.

"Fuck! I assumed you knew how to fire a fucking pistol," she spits out hurriedly.

A chip of something smacks my cheek at the same time a new hole in the building appears. "I didn't think it was that different from a rifle!" I say indignantly. There's a brief pause in shooting. Shepard stands slightly, returning fire.

"You could've given me some warning, like," she shifts and shoots before hastily dropping down again, "when I gave you the damn thing!"

"Well I didn't fucking think about it," I snap, starting to creep closer to look over the ledge. A hail of bullets make me change my mind. Shoving my pistol wielding hand over the wall, I blindly fire in the thug's general direction. A series of beeps and a warm sensation on my hand stop my suppressing fire. Huh, I guess it overheated.

Seeing me sitting with the smoking gun, Shepard takes pity on me and offers advice. "Time your shots. Overheating in the middle of a firefight could kill you." She fires over the wall at a much slower rhythm than I did. When the fire toward us stops, the look she gives me says _see? _

As soon as the gun looks cool (because real life lacks a status bar for an overheating gun) I start to fire blindly again, matching Shepard's former pace. She takes the opportunity to stand up and fire. As she fires, I peek over the ledge. The thugs are safely behind cover, about a meter apart. Our cover is whittling away slowly but surely. I'm not sure how well their cover is holding up. The benches looked like solid metal.

Suddenly, I'm struck by an idea.

"Shepard!" I begin, shuffling behind the wall. Her answering grunt I take as permission to continue,"Do you have any explosives?"

She only responds when shots fly in her direction, forcing her down. "Yeah, a low-grade though."

"Show me how to activate it and I'll take two down, flushing the others out!" She gives me a strange look, but- for some unfathomable reason I never figure out- gives me the explosives. Like a lighter's child lock, you have to pull one latch and press the button. Wait three seconds and boom! "What's the radius?"

Ducking under a well-coordinated hail of bullets, "A couple of meters, I guess," she shrugs. What the- why does she not know? That's possibly the most dangerous thing that's happened all day.

Perhaps now would be a bad time to berate her on explosive safety. "Seriously? That's it?" She shrugs again. I guess it'll have to work. "Fine. Can you try to lay down suppressing fire so I can throw the damn thing?"

"You gonna hit the fucking target?" she throws back, shooting over the cover. "If your aim with that is as piss poor as with a gun, we're dead."

_Yep, my aim is pretty bad- but your mouth is worse. _"I can do it!" I opt for instead. Starting an argument would be a death sentence.

Without another word she starts to fire rapidly, ending the return fire. Standing fully up, she goes ballistic on the trigger. Taking this crazed firing as my cue, I stand up and quickly calculate the best point for landing. Two of the thugs crouch behind a bench, while the others are behind a similar but smaller wall to the right. The two groups are about three meters apart. I obviously can't get both groups, so I opt for the easy one. Besides, the force of the grenade should me more than enough to lift the bench up and hit the other group.

I have to shake away the random physics calculations I'm doing. Pulling the latch, I click the button and lob it toward the group behind the bench. Not even waiting to see if it hits, I duck back down quickly, covering my ears as best I can.

One...

I screw my eyes shut to psychologically block out the sound of the thugs screaming in panic. It doesn't work.

Two...

BOOM! The explosion comes a second early, the ground and wall behind me vibrating with the force. My ears ring a little, but not enough to cover Shepard's exclamation.

"Damn!"

Peeking through an eye, I see Shepard standing up with a hand on her hip. I uncurl to asses the damage. As soon as I'm up, she pats me on the back with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face directed towards me. The bench is totally uprooted and flung in the small walled off area. Four thugs lay dead in the street.

I've just killed these people. My stomach turns and I can taste bile on the back of my tongue.

"Great job! I can see an excellent partnership in our future." Shepard's next words are sure to haunt me for the rest of my life:

"You're a natural!"


End file.
